


Caretaker

by Sparkle_Free



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparkle_Free/pseuds/Sparkle_Free
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Holmes and Watson fall ill, and Mrs. Hudson must care for them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caretaker

Mrs. Hudson awoke that morning to Mr. Holmes shuffling about in that odd way of his. She looked out the window with a sigh, noting the sun hadn't even begun to peak over the horizon yet. Which meant that he was either still up from the evening prior, or had awoken quite early, likely due to a case.

She rolled onto her back and tried to fall back asleep, but the slightly unsteady _thumping_ of his footfalls nagged at her as she realized something was off. With a sigh, she flung aside her bedding and pulled on a dressing gown, hurrying out of her room and up the stairs.

She knocked lightly on their sitting room door before peeking inside. Mr. Holmes was swaying slightly, but with his back turned it was hard to tell if that indicated anything was amiss, or if it merely indicated his intoxication. Then, he resumed walking, turning so she could see part of his face, illuminated by the fire.

His hair was falling over his forehead, tangled and wet. She spotted an empty water basin in the floor next to his chair, and strongly suspected he'd up-ended it over his head in an attempt to relieve his suffering. She stepped inside fully.

"Mr. Holmes?" he stopped his slow pacing, turning to look at her fully. His face was chalk-white; even his lips had lost all color.

"Yes?" he said weakly. He resumed his pacing, slow circles around the room.

"You need to lay down," Mrs. Hudson said gently, catching his shoulder as he crossed in front of her. He tried to shake her off, to continue working off his nervous energy, but he was so exhausted she was able to guide him easily toward the door to his room. She lit a candle and lead him to the bed. He protested weakly as she tried to forced him to lay down, but finally collapsed against the pillow with a groan. She left him for a moment to fetch a basin of cold water and some clothes, and found him pacing his bedroom. She sat the water on the floor near the bed.

"I'll fetch the doctor," she said. He seemed mollified by that, at least, and allowed her to push him back against the bed. She grabbed the candle on the nightstand and hurried up the stairs.

"Dr. Watson?" she pushed open the door, holding the candle out in front of her "I'm sorry to disturb you but - oh, no." She stepped inside to see him sitting on the edge of his bed, head bent forward nearly between his knees. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand, trying to block out the smell coming from the basin between his feet. He lifted his head weakly, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead at the movement.

"Mrs. Hudson," he rasped. He sounded winded, as though he'd just been running. "My apologies. Did I... disturb you?"

"Oh heavens no, Doctor," she crossed to stand next to him, running a hand through his sweaty hair and tugging him closer. He forgot all decorum in the face of his illness, leaning his head gratefully against her breast, like a small child might. "It was Mr. Holmes, actually. He's not as bad off as you, but..." she trailed off. He leaned away from her, swaying slightly.

"He's ill?" She nodded.

"I'm afraid so, Doctor. But don't worry yourself over it, please -" she broke off as he leaned back and attempted to push himself to his feet.

"I should check on him," he said, swaying where he stood. She reached out to grip his arm, steadying him.

"You should lay down and let me tend to you. So should Mr. Holmes, as a matter of fact, but..." she trailed off, an idea forming. "That's a wonderful idea, doctor. Let's go see Mr. Holmes," she said. He nodded, too ill to follow her train of thought. She held on fast, guiding him down the stairs.

They stopped outside Mr. Holmes' bedroom door just long enough to knock before Dr. Watson threw open the door and staggered inside. Mr. Holmes started from where he'd been standing next to the desk.

"Lay down, Holmes," the doctor said sternly. Mr. Holmes pouted, but crossed to the bed without complaint. The instant he had settled in, she pressed against Dr. Watson's shoulder and, unsteady as he was, he tumbled down onto him. For a moment they both stared at her, wide-eyed, Dr. Watson not even bothering to shift from where he lay across Mr. Holmes, hands gripping his shoulders to steady himself. Then they turned to regard each other and with a stammered apology, Dr. Watson moved so they were laying side to side, shoulders pressed together.

"There," she leaned down to pull two cloths from the basin of cold water and press them to their foreheads. "Now, the two of you are going to _stay in bed_," she said sternly, "And ring for me should you need anything. I'll be right back with tea," she finished with a smile. They both continued to stare at her as she spun around and walked out of the room.

She quickly returned, tray in hand and poured a cup of tea for each of them. The doctor struggled to sit up first, pulling the clothes from their foreheads and dropping them back in the water. He gripped Mr. Holmes' elbow and pulled him up, as well. The doctor accepted the cups gratefully, handing one to Mr. Holmes with a warning glare. He sniffed, but took the cup without complaint.

She watched as they drank, then collected the cups and sat the tea next to the bed. She wrung out the rags once more, urging them to lay back down and sitting on the edge of the bed. She gently ran one of the rags over Dr. Watson's face, smiling as his eyes slid closed and he relaxed further. Mr. Holmes turned to watch curiously, settling on his side. She ran the cloth over his cheeks, noting he was smiling faintly. Dr. Watson's breathing slowed, finally, and she rested the cloth against his forehead and reached for another. She wrung out the next one and turned back to Mr. Holmes, who was still watching Dr. Watson with a strangely affectionate look. She ran the cloth down his cheek and he started and looked up at her, wide-eyed. She simply smiled at him, running the cloth over his forehead, brushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead. She thought wistfully of when her children were young, their wide, innocent eyes and tender smiles. A time when she had been useful, needed. _Wanted_.

With a start, she realized Mr. Holmes had fallen asleep as well. She rested the cloth on his forehead and stood, content in the knowledge that she could at least still be useful, when allowed. With a smile, she walked quietly from the room.

She returned later that evening, a cool basin of water in her hands. She stopped just inside the door, taking in the scene in front of her.

The doctor was laying on his back, mouth parted slightly in sleep, his features relaxed. Mr. Holmes was still laying on his side, except now he was curled around the doctor, one arm wrapped around his waist. Dr. Watson was gripping it with his left hand, his right resting against the back of Mr. Holmes' neck, buried in the hair there. She stepped inside just long enough to check their temperatures - normal, she noted - then blew out the candle and left quietly.


End file.
